


Collected Shorts

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Joanlock - Freeform, Not Platonic, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, no, no ... this is not fic about anyone's shorts. I write a lot of quick ficlets that I post to tumblr and I'm beginning to lose track of them. So I'm going to archive them by posting them here (not all of them - I write too much). There's no theme other than they are short and joanlock for the most part. Posting will be sporadic as I "re-find" them.<br/>....<br/>Added a few more stories previously posted on tumblr chapters 10 - 13</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelter

Huge raindrops attacked the windows, pelting them with such ferocity that they roused Joan from the depths of sleep. Flashes of light lit her room in rapid succession, followed by explosive cracks of thunder. The wind buffeted the sides of the old brownstone, whistling in victory when it managed to push itself in through cracks and crevices. She felt the cold air on her face in stark contrast to her warmth beneath the thick blankets.

Joan sunk deeper into the soft recesses of her bed, adjusting herself closer to the warmth of his body. She didn’t want to wake him; a full night’s sleep was a rare commodity for him. But Sherlock, without truly waking, responded to her approach and with one movement on his part, she was soon snuggled up against his chest, tightly encircled in his arms. He drew a deep breath of contentment and adjusted his body to better meet hers.

Nights such as this when they shared her bed, the many rules and roles they and the outside world imposed were cast aside. Conversations that they would never have face to face in the light of day came easier when they were stripped bare, leaving themselves emotionally and physically vulnerable to the other. Oft times touch was substituted for words neither could say and they found solace in not having to verbalize and analyze - they just were.

The rain and wind and lightning continued its attack on the city outside but inside the brownstone, within her room, in their nest of sheets and blankets and entwined bodies, they slept peacefully, safe in each other’s arms.


	2. Ignacio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a set of three stories featuring Joan and Sherlock's interactions with Ignacio, a neighbor toddler. There is a little Spanish vocab in the stories but I think it's easily understood. Ignacio and his grandma also have a passing reference in "Alpha" - chapter 12 of my Watson Was Born on a Wednesday collection.
> 
> (I just came to find out recently that one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's middle names was Ignatius.)

“No. No … I mean it. Let go of my nose.”

Joan watched Sherlock and the 18 month old boy playing on the floor. A large white poster board and crayons lay ignored. Ignacio was more interested in Sherlock’s face.

“Ow! I mean it Iggy!”

“Why did you agree to take care of him?” Joan gave up trying to read and watched the child prodding at Sherlock’s cheeks with sticky saliva dripping hands.

“Ugh …” Sherlock grabbed at the child and peeled him away. “I didn’t agree. Mrs. Gonzales rang the doorbell, threw the child at me and said she’d be back within the hour.”

A shrill cry erupted from Ig. His small chubby hands flailed out in front of him and reached for Sherlock who kept him at arms length. “Watson, you’re a woman … Couldn’t you?” He motioned with the child hoping she’d take the bait.

Joan rolled her eyes, “No.” She opened her book again. “I’m scared of children.”

Sherlock smirked. He brought the child back to him much to Ignacio’s delight. The child took put a small arm around Sherlock’s neck, his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and babbled. Sherlock patted his back. "Seriously, Watson, you were a doctor, and you can’t handle a child?“

“Nope,” was her only response. She watched them out of the corner of her eye. Iggy picked his head up, pulled his slobbery little index finger out of his mouth and poked at Sherlock’s eye, “oh-jo, ojo …” The boy was trying out his words.

Sherlock wiped away the trail of spit the boy left on his face. “Very good Ignacio!” He looked intently at the boy, “Ojo, indeed! And esto, que es esto?” He pointed to his mouth.

Iggy poked his little finger at Sherlock’s lips, “Booca!” He said with a smile.

Sherlock gave the boy one of his rare smiles, “Muy bien!” Ignacio threw both arms around Sherlock’s neck and settled in. Sherlock gently rubbed circles on the child’s back and found himself slowly rocking with the boy.

Joan watched. Sherlock had a way with children. She would have never guessed. But then he did seem to have an affinity towards all small creatures that needed care, whether they be turtles, roosters, bees or even babies.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
The blender slowed down and came to a stop with a swurp. Joan opened the lid to check on her smoothie. She heard Sherlock’s footsteps descending the stairs, “Watson, we have a visitor!”

Joan reached for her glass and heard him coming up behind her but a second set of footsteps did not follow. She set the glass down and was about to turn around to ask Sherlock who it was when she was suddenly grabbed from behind in a warm embrace.

“Ignacio!” she greeted the child with a big smile as she took the boy from Sherlock’s arms. The toddler, equally happy to see her threw his arms around her neck, “Hi Wahtson! 

"Abuela was rushing off to the bodega with Iggy here unhappily in tow and I suggested leaving him with us while she shopped.” Sherlock looked contently at his partner. Her claims of not being child-friendly had been disproved by the blue sweatered child in her arms. Occasional visits from Ignacio had become a welcome reprieve from the work. Joan smoothed Iggy’s hair down and kissed his chubby cheek. “Your are getting so big!”

The child nodded, “Tengo dos!” and carefully maneuvered his fingers to further emphasize his age.

Joan impulsively gave the child another kiss on the cheek as she handed him back to Sherlock. "Would you like a smoothie, Ignacio?“

"Yes, please.” Iggy nodded enthusiastically. He was a big fan of Joan’s blends. Sherlock reached into the cabinet for the small plastic sippy cup they kept there for Ig’s visits. He handed it over to Joan.

Sherlock took the child over to the table and sat him on his knee. “Ignacio, mira lo que tengo.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small, round magnifying glass, setting it before the boy who looked at it with curiosity, reached for it and turned it over carefully in his hands.

Sherlock admired the poised, inquisitive nature of the boy. He saw detective potential in the child.

Joan set the sippy cup full of strawberry smoothie before the boy and sat at the table with her glass. She watched Ignacio study the magnifier.

His parents both worked long hours and the child spent his days with his grandmother, their neighbor Mrs. Gonzales. The child was well-loved and it showed.

“Do you know what that is?” Joan quizzed him. “It makes things bigger. Mas grande!”

Ignacio held the magnifying glass before his eye and turned. He was surprised to get a close up view of Sherlock’s stubbly chin and then of his huge eye. Sherlock made faces at him. 

A body shaking giggle erupted from the child and the consulting detectives, not known to laugh at much of anything, suddenly found themselves sharing in the child’s laughter.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Watson! I need your assistance.”

She was in the kitchen and his call scared her. He usually just bellowed out her name. The statement following her name was worrisome as was the slightest hint of urgency in his voice. She threw down the dishtowel and ran upstairs, worried about Ignacio who was visiting for a few hours. Joan had left them in the middle of the “Spot the Bad Guy” game - Sherlock’s attempt to quantify the ability of small children to intuitively spot evil.

She rounded the corner into the library and burst out laughing. Sherlock held the boy straight-armed before him.

“The honey pot was not put away this morning after our fireside breakfast. The child apparently has never tasted honey.”

“Es sweeeet, Watson. Try." Iggy sucked honey from his thumb and extended the other gooey hand towards Joan. His cheeks glistened with globs of dripping sweetness. Honey shone in his hair, on his sweater, coated his hands and stuck to his wiggly toes. The two year old looked quite happy. Sherlock did not.

“Ignacio already shared some with me.” Sherlock grimaced. His face and hair had the look of having been soundly patted by those honey-coated hands. He held out the boy before him for Watson to take.

Joan took a step back, “Uh, no.”

Sherlock looked distraught. “Please….. ” He put on his best pleading puppy dog look, the one he knew she couldn’t resist.

She shook her head at Sherlock, “You can drop that look, it’s not going to work. Take him upstairs to the bathroom. We’ll get both of you cleaned up at the same time.” Joan smiled at Iggy and cooed at him, “Look at the mess you’ve made. We’re going to get you cleaned up, okay?”

“But Watson it’s gooood. Try.” Joan quickly stepped out of reach of his hands as Sherlock zoomed passed her and bounded up the stairs.

——

Joan walked into the bathroom with the extra pull ups Mrs. Gonzales had left for Ig. Sherlock was on his knees before the boy, who stood in the tub wiping the remnants of honey onto his sweater.

“Take his clothes off.” Joan’s suggestion was met with the foulest look Sherlock was able to muster on his honey-encrusted face. She took a step back.

What followed was not pretty. In taking off the boy’s sweater, Sherlock managed to smear both himself and Iggy with more honey. The child realized what needed to be done and took off his corduroy pants proudly beaming at Watson who praised him for his initiative.

“Now what?” Sherlock’s tone was not pleasant.

Joan sighed. “Alright. You hold on to him and I’ll scrub.” She turned on the water, lathered a washcloth and began wiping the little boy’s cheeks and elbows and toes and hands.

Iggy seemed rather pleased by the impromptu bath. Splashing his feet in the gathering water. “Look Sherlock. No estoy sticky! See!” He flapped his hands and sprinkled water in his direction.

Sherlock flinched but couldn’t suppress smile. "Si, Ignacio. Muy bien.“

Joan reached for Ignacio, a large bath towel in her hand. “Okay. I’ll take him now.” She took the boy from his grasp, carefully avoiding contact with the still gooey Sherlock.

“So do I get a sponge bath next?” Sherlock flashed his eyes at her.

Joan smiled. “In your dreams …” As she stood up with the towel covered boy in her arms, she realized Sherlock was coming towards her. “Sherlock! Don’t you dare!”

He reached over and holding on to her arm on one side and Ignacio on the other pressed forward and gave her a sticky sweet kiss on the cheek, lips and nose, leaving a trail of honey across her face.

Try as she might to be angry, her cry of his name was more of a laugh than anything else mingled with the giggles of Ignacio.

——–  
“It was so good, ‘buela!” Ignacio showed no remorse as he told his grandmother about the honey.

“Aye, mijo!” The older woman shook her head at him and turned to Joan and Sherlock. “I’m so sorry. He can be such a handful. I don’t think he has tried honey before.”

“No problem, Mrs. Gonzales. He does seem to like it. Ignacio is just a very bright boy. Very inquisitive.” Joan smiled at them.

“I’m told I was very much the same at his age.” A now clean Sherlock handed Ignacio’s grandmother a small jar of honey. “For you. It’s from our hives. Maybe next visit I’ll take him up to visit the bees.”


	3. Comrade in Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy, comfort, hiding ...

The doors to the media room had been closed but they had not been able to contain the sounds of the angry argument between the two men from reaching Joan’s room. It brought back unwanted memories. A sudden quiet settled in and after a few minutes, she went looking for him.

Sunken into the corner of the couch in his room, Sherlock sulked. The room was dark except for the light coming in from the kitchen. Joan stood in the doorway hesitating for a second.

“Hey.” Joan announced her presence. Sherlock glanced in her direction.

“Mind if I join you?” Not waiting for an answer, she entered, closing the doors behind her.

“Is “he” still upstairs?“ Anger seethed behind Sherlock’s whispered question.

"Yes.” Joan sat next to him. “Apparently, being rude and obnoxious to you wasn’t enough, he’s upstairs making some very aggressive sounding phone calls.” She gave him a faint smile. “You okay?”

“Define ‘okay.’” Sherlock stared blankly.

“My stepfather and I,” she paused and thought about how to say this. “He and I didn’t see eye to eye on many things. We had arguments, especially when I was a teenager … Loud, bitter, angry fights.” Sherlock glanced in her direction. She continued, “It was at his insistence that I went to med school.”

Sherlock sat up a little and faced her. Watson rarely shared thus much voluntarily. “I thought you wanted to be a doctor.”

“I came around to the idea and threw myself into it but it was not my first choice.” Joan sat quietly for a few seconds before continuing, “Anyway, after those fights I would morosely sequester myself in my room for hours. I had a secret stash from which I would reward myself for standing up to him…”

“Watson,” he sounded surprised, “you of all people.”

Joan stopped him before he jumped to the wrong conclusion. From the pocket of her red cardigan, she pulled out a large opened bag of peanut m&ms. “I’ve already had a few. Your argument made me nervous.”

Amusement at her revelation lifted his face and he put his cupped hand in front of her. Joan shook the candy out into it. “I have plain m&ms in the other pocket if you prefer those.” She smiled at him as she popped a yellow and then a green m&m into her mouth.

Sherlock gave her a half smile before pouring most of the handful of candy into his mouth.

“Sherlock!” The senior Holmes’ bellow came from the foot of the stairs, “Sherlock! Answer me!”

Joan and Sherlock instinctively crouched further down and closer on the couch and held their breaths.

“Damn it. I don’t have time for this…” Holmes, Sr. was an impatient man. He gave up and made his way upstairs.

Joan and Sherlock listened as his footsteps receded. Releasing their held breath, they relaxed sinking further into the soft cushions of the couch. Sherlock lightly nudged her with his shoulder and stuck his hand out. Joan gave him a refill.

“How long do you estimate we can hide down here?” Sherlock’s mood had brightened considerably.

“Did I mention, I also have fun size Snickers in addition to the plain m&ms?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a small nod.

Sherlock smiled at her. They sat and crunched contentedly.


	4. Legal purposes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the beginning of season four 
> 
> I've had the head canon for quite awhile now that they are legal domestic partners

“You would be quite an asset, Ms. Watson. You have all the skills of my son with none of his rough edges. Come work for me. Travel, stay in the finest hotels, I pay quite handsomely.” Holmes, Sr. stood before Joan, his back to the seated Sherlock who stared blankly in their direction. He oozed old world charm.

“Thank you, but no.” She’d rather sell her soul to the devil, she thought as she smiled politely. Sherlock looked at her as if he had just read her mind.

“I’d consider it more carefully if I were you. Are you going to waste your talents here, watching over this ingrate…” He motioned over his shoulders.

Joan winced. She hated how this man talked about Sherlock. “Your son and I are partners.” Sherlock raised his eyes to hers. “We work as a team. I’m better with him.” She watched a hint of a smile curl on her partner’s lips.

Sherlock’s father shook his head. “Staying with him is probably not the best of plans. Just so you both know, I am in the process of having Sherlock declared an incapacitated adult and sending him back to Hemdale whether he wants to go or not.”

Joan strode past Mr. Holmes, sat on the arm rest of Sherlock’s chair and folded her arms, “Mm, no, your not. I don’t know if Sherlock ever mentioned it to you, but we are legal domestic partners, which gives us many of the rights of a married couple.” She smiled at the older man and turned to Sherlock, “I also have his general and health care power of attorney, as he does mine.” She patted down Sherlock’s lapel and looked back at the older man defiantly.

“I’m his father!”

“Yes, but for all legal purposes, she is my wife.” It was the first time Sherlock had spoken to his father all day. “And until such time as you have us evicted, this is our home. Please leave.”

The senior Holmes shook his head and shrugged, “I have more important things to do today than argue with children. This isn’t over. I’ll see my self out.”


	5. I thought you'd left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Takes place a few hours after the season 3 finale)

JOAN! Joan! …. Joan!

Two in the morning. She was pulled out of a fitful sleep by the desperate cries; her name reverberated down the stairs toward her.

“Sherlock?” She called out softly as she stood, listened and ran out of the library.

She found him crumpled on the second floor landing, bent over, head in hands. He did not look up as she approached.

“Sherlock?” Joan put a careful arm around his bent shoulders. “I’m here. It’s okay …” Joan whispered at his hunched over form.

Sherlock raised his head enough to speak, his voice hoarse. “I thought you’d gone … Your bed … ” he sniffed and attempted to wipe his face of the horrid tears.

“I fell asleep downstairs.” She lay her forehead on the side of his head, holding the back of his neck, and stroking gently at the soft bristles of his hair.

“Mmm…” He nodded raised his eyes to hers. Fear and regret mixed in his eyes, pushing out tears once again as he looked at her. “I’m sorry.” His voice was a hissed whisper, “I’m sorry…”

Joan wiped at his face with her bare hand; tears escaped her eyes. He lunged towards her and wrapped his arms tight around her, finding momentary comfort in the embrace. His head hid between her neck and shoulder.

Slowly his breathing came easier and he murmured into her neck, “I thought you’d left … ”

Joan held him tighter, and would not let him move away. “You know better than that.” She spoke into his hair and rocked slightly with him.

They sat that way for a few minutes until he took a long stuttering breath and picked his head up. He looked her square in the eye, while he tried to find words. “You deserve so much better than this, Joan. You should run as far away as you can from me.”

The sincerity in his words hurt her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Stop it. Running away from problems solves nothing.” Joan searched his eyes. “I thought we might have learned that by now.” A faint smile crossed her face and fluttered on to his just for a second.

He took a deep breath and tried to become Sherlock Holmes for her, “You should go to bed, Watson. I will be fine.”

Joan looked at him, took her own deep breath and became Watson for him. “I know you will.”

————-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Sherlock call her Joan - this goes against my thinking that Joan is an impersonal way for him to refer to her, while “Watson” is his almost term of endearment for her. BUT .... Amindamazed made an excellent comment with ref. to this:  
> " ... here I saw it as a variation on the distancing he used in 222, now bc he’d betrayed himself/wasn’t Holmes to her Watson anymore. which fits w/ your ending."


	6. The first time they met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an image by James Hoff. It took me over an hour of searching on tumblr to find this story ...
> 
> http://nairobiwonders.tumblr.com/post/111743228924/the-first-time-they-met

“Go play, Joan. …. Now! Put down the book and go." 

"But mama …” The look Mary gave her daughter left no room for argument. Joan hopped off the bench and walked towards the shady playground area of the urban park, hugging her copy of James and the Giant Peach close to her chest. 

Oren ran by chasing after another little boy. “Tag your it!” He tapped the boy on the shoulder, turned and ran off in the other direction with the boy in close pursuit. Joan kept walking. Amid the swirls of kids running, swinging, jumping and laughing, she caught sight of a thin pale boy standing perfectly still by a tree. She noticed his polka dotted socks scrunched down around his ankles, his knees were dirty and skinned from a fall she guessed; he had a magnifying glass tightly clenched in one hand which he held up to a tree. 

Joan approached carefully, curious about what he was doing but scared he might me one of those mean kids her mom warned her about. She got closer and closer until she was right up to him, staring him in the face; he didn’t react. He didn’t look mean. She screwed up her courage and asked, “What are ya doin’?" 

A startled Sherlock jumped and swiveled towards her. The little girl before him was his age maybe a year older but smaller in size. She was missing a front tooth, had freckles across her nose and her long dark hair was neatly plaited. Her too big t-shirt covered her shorts and her shoes were completely inappropriate for running. He sneered at her, irritated at being interrupted, "Go away.” He turned his attention back to the tree. 

Joan moved around behind him and took a look at what he was looking at. “Oh, someone cut something into the tree. People do that a lot. It doesn’t harm the tree much. Daddy says its…” She stopped talking when she realized he was staring at her intently his face inches from hers. “What?" 

"I’m working here and I don’t need help. These aren’t ordinary markings. I’ve seen them throughout the park and …”

"Are you from England? You have an accent. My other daddy, my real daddy, has an accent but just a little one. He was born in Hong Kong and…“ Joan stopped. She didn’t know why she was talking to this little boy. She never talked and especially not about her other daddy to anyone. 

He was looking at her funny. "I only have one father and that is more than enough.” He turned his attention back to the tree, “That’s why I’m here. He made me come with him, said it would be good for me." 

Joan nodded. The little boy sounded sad and she thought he seemed lonely. She understood lonely. "You know, I saw some of those markings on the sandbox." 

Sherlock turned to her, excitedly, "Show me where.” Joan rushed him to the sandbox and pointed out the markings. 

“Excellent!” His enthusiasm made Joan smile. He timidly smiled back. “Help me clear the sand from here. I think the markings continue down this way." 

Joan set her book out of harms way and started digging by his side. The afternoon passed quickly as they followed the markings from sandbox to seesaw to slide. She cleaned them off and examined the marks; he scribbled notes and drawings into his little notebook. 

"Joan! Come on. Time to go!” Mary called at her daughter from across the park.

"I have to go. Are you going to be here tomorrow?“ 

Sherlock looked at her and shook his head no. "Nanny and I head back home tomorrow." 

"Oh! Then how will we solve the mystery of the marks?” Joan was upset. He felt as bad as she did. It was a rare thing for him to find some to play and share ideas with. 

“Wait! I know.” An excited Sherlock handed her his little notebook. “You take the book and keep up the work. And maybe sometime in the future if I come back we can figure it out together. Okay?" 

Her eyes shone with excitement, "Yes! I can do that.” She took the book from his hands and impulsively gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you later!” she called over her shoulder as she ran towards her mom. 

A surprised Sherlock stood and watched them walk away. Nanny Watkins was calling for him. He went to the sandbox to retrieve his magnifying glass and saw her copy of James and the Giant Peach laying on the bench. The little girl was long gone. He’d have to return it to her when next they met.


	7. We Need to Talk/Spent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post The Burden of Blood ficlet with coda. Season four spoilers. Contains slight tweaks to the original that was posted on tumblr.

Sherlock tossed his keys into the small dish on the coatrack table. “That’s over with,” he muttered. “A good reminder one must never trust one’s siblings …”

Watson hung up her jacket, smirked and shook her head.

He moved towards the hall, “I’ll start dinner, unless you want take out …”

She stopped him, “Wait. We need to talk first.”

He grimaced. “Must we?” Sherlock knew the topic of the oncoming discussion and had hoped to avoid it. “Perhaps we should eat first and then chat. Things often look more agreeable on a full stomach, hmm?” He bobbed his head hoping to make her agree with him and took a step backwards down the hall.

“No, Sherlock.” She took a step towards him. “We talk now.”

He sighed. Standing ramrod straight in place, he awaited her wrath. He was surprised she had controlled herself this long.

“That outburst you had when you leapt to the ridiculous conclusion that Marcus and I were having sex behind your back, was completely unacceptable.” Her voice was even toned but he could hear the beginning rumbles of the storm to come. He said nothing and stared at the floor.

She stepped closer to him and looked up into his face. “What were you thinking!” He took a small step back as she continued. “For starters, even if you had been correct in your conclusion, you have no right to talk to me in that manner. I am a grown woman and can do as I want, with whom I want, where I want.” His silence further angered her. “The lack of rational thought in your assessment of the situation astounds me. You! of all people….” She pushed at his shoulder. “Do you really think Marcus and I would be so foolish as to have sex here, knowing you’d be back at any moment …”

“The thrill of getting caught often adds excitement to illicit …” As the words left his mouth, he knew he’d made things worse.

“Illicit! Illicit?” Her voice rose, as did the color in her face. “There was nothing illicit … why would you ever think ….” Joan caught herself and took a breath, determined to keep herself in control. “Jealousy does not become you, Sherlock.”

“I was not jealous! I am not jealous!” His voice strained at the insinuation. “Jealousy implies a right I know I do not have. …. I thought you and Marcus … I was merely trying to …” He took a breath and closed his eyes, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. Her eyes sought his and waited for his explanation.

Sherlock took on a calmer tone, “Love and sex are two very different things, Watson. When they converge, it can be a heady mixture. Perhaps I let my emotions get the better of me but when faced with the risk of losing …” He abruptly stopped lest he leave himself completely vulnerable to her derision. He tore his eyes away from hers and cast them to the ground. After a moment, he continued. “I was wrong in my assumptions. You obviously can do as you wish. Rest assured, I will keep my emotions in check and stay out of your private affairs in the future.” His tone was dismissive and he turned to walk away.

“No.” Joan moved to block his escape. “We came to understanding after your relapse. We talk. We share. We are partners and not just in business. If you don’t trust me to do what’s right then we have nothing.”

He squinted at her, in disbelief, getting angry all over again. “You were the one keeping a secret from me. I am not the guilty party here.”

“You think I’m guilty? Guilty of what? Helping a friend? If you suspected I was keeping something from you, of doing something wrong, why not ask rather than accuse?” Her voice rose to meet his. "Why assume the worst? Why assume betrayal? If and when I find myself in love with someone other than you, I will make sure to let you know. Is that understood? Until then, you have no cause to act like a testosterone filled primate.“

Quiet fell between them. His eyes searched her face. "Other than me…?” he whispered.

Joan’s eyes grew large as she realized what she had said. Rather than try to deny it, she simply nodded her head. She placed her forehead onto his chest, hiding her face from his, waiting for his response.

His cheek came to rest on the top of her head. His arms wound around her and and he stood still trying to control the mad pace of his heart. The whispered words came slowly. "I ... I was terrified … thought I’d lost you and lashed out first rather than wait to be cast aside…. I’m sorry.”

Joan did not respond but let her arms encircle him and tighten, bringing him closer to her. His lips moved to her ear, "Your feelings are very much reciprocated." She felt the warm breath of his next words more than heard them, “I love you.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

_**Spent. _ ****_**_

That was the word he used when he had accused her and Marcus of having just engaged in sex. “Unless you are too spent…”

_**Spent. _ ****_**_

Now she understood. He lay on top of her. Bodies joined, limbs entwined, mouths open upon the others skin and all they could manage was to breathe and hold on….

_**Spent. _ ****_**_

The phone rang and though well within reach, was ignored. The necessity, ability and desire to answer it was gone.

_**Spent. _ ****_**_

Sherlock rolled himself over on to his back and took her with him. She dragged her body up his to reach his neck and cradled there. The slow rhythm of their breaths soon synced .... not ..... quite .... spent ... the night continued ...


	8. Chapter 8

The brownstone was quiet.

“Sherlock.” Joan called out, as she hung up her purse. Gregson stood patiently beside her.

Galumphing footsteps descended the stairs preceding his excited cry, “Ah, Watson, I’m glad you’re back. You can help me with this electrode patch. It refuses to latch on….”

One look at the Captain and she knew. She started speaking before she turned towards her partner. “Sherlock, put some clothes on. Captain Gregson would like to have a word with us.”

Sherlock stood naked on the stairs; small, white patches clung to various spots on his body - chest, arms, legs…

The look on his face as he processed why clothes might be necessary amused her. Social propriety sometimes eluded him. Joan raised her eyebrows at him and slid her eyes toward their guest. 

“Oh, oh! Right.” And with that he turned and raced up the stairs, calling over his shoulder. “Won’t be a moment …” She suppressed a smile.

Gregson stood wide-eyed beside her. “Does he usually run around here … naked?” He turned to look at Joan, embarrassed by the personal nature of his question, he stammered, “I ….I mean, I guess its none of my business …”

She ushered him into the library and he took a seat on the sofa. Joan pushed the ottoman across the floor and sat before him. “He’s been working on a rather interesting experiment as of late, testing electro-magnetic skin conductivity based on surface and temperature condition.”

Gregson leaned forward and folded his hands between his knees as he tried to pretend to understand. “Naked?” He asked again.

“His initial test, the control, was done without clothing and in order to keep the data consistent, he thinks we should continue our tests …” Her voice drifted off as she saw the look in the Captain’s eyes.

Mercifully, a now semi-clothed Sherlock bounded into the room and plopped himself down on the ottoman besides Watson.“So, captain, what brings you to our humble abode?”

Gregson was still stuck on the “we” part of Joan’s statement, images of his consulting detectives, naked and covered in wire and electrodes clouded his mind.

“Captain?” Sherlock repeated. Joan picked off a patch from his bicep as she waited for the captain to speak.

“Sorry, yes … I, uhm, wanted to talk to you both away from the station. It’s kind of a sensitive subject … And I uhm ….” He looked from one to the other. “I’ve been asked to recommend a couple of my people for undercover work. It’s a rather large time commitment. You’d be going in as a married couple, at NYU … Our narcotics department has uncovered a cartel, run by academics and… well … I thought you two fit the bill.”

Joan absentmindedly licked her thumb and rubbed off the sticky residue left on his muscle. Sherlock scrunched his face at her in mock disgust but said nothing.

Yup, thought Gregson, they’ll do just fine.

“We’ll need some time to discuss.” Joan spoke for both of them.

“No problem.” Gregson stood. “I’ll send over the files and give you a couple of days.” He moved towards the door. “I’ll let you two get back to your … ” His hands waved vaguely towards the upstairs, “your uhm … whatever.” He smiled and showed himself out.


	9. Chapter 9

Three in the morning. It'd been a long time since Holmes and Watson participated in a stakeout. Marcus sat up front behind the wheel. "I think this may be a waste of time." His eyes scanned the empty street.

"Indeed. Unfortunately, the only way to confirm the waste of time is to waste the time," Sherlock whispered.

Marcus turned towards the back seat to ask him why the whisper and caught sight of Sherlock pushing a strand of hair back from the face of a very soundly sleeping Joan. She moved and nestled her head comfortably on the lapel of his coat. Sherlock wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb and watched her sleep. 

Marcus smiled, said nothing and went back to scouring the street ahead.


	10. Elementary Miami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a joking comment made by JLM at Paley Center, panel of 10/2016

The turquoise blue waves shushed the shore, the gulls circled and squawked overhead and there he stood - ramrod straight, scanning the horizon and squinting in the light of the noon day sun.

Joan’s floppy hat, tank top and shorts were keeping her in much better spirits than Sherlock’s suit - his shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar as usual. At least he wasn’t wearing the vest today. 

“Mad dogs and Englishmen …” she muttered.

He looked at her dismissively, not finding any humor in her comment, and turned back to the horizon. Joan watched as one lone bead of perspiration trickled from his sideburn, rolled down his cheek to his jawline and then sped down to his collar. Sherlock irritably wiped at his neck.

“Damn humidity,” he grumbled, plopped himself down on the sand and proceeded to angrily take off his shoes. “I believe coming to Miami may have been a mistake.” As he talked he yanked off his yellow and green striped socks.

“You think?” Joan had warned him that the Floridian climate might be difficult for him.

Sherlock sprung up, took off his jacket and dropped it on his shoes. He made quick work of unbuttoning and removing his shirt and dropped it on the jacket.

Arms crossed before her, she watched, wondering how far his striptease would go. He unbuckled his belt and pulled.

“Sherlock!” Her tone stopped him. “You are wearing underwear, right?”

He stared at her as he unzipped his fly and pulled down his pants. Joan rolled her eyes; he was wearing the bees and flower boxers she had gotten him last Christmas.

Sherlock stepped out of the puddle of trousers at his feet and carefully removed his watch. Joan, hands on hips, observed but made no comment. The beach was practically empty and besides, this was Miami - no one much cared who undressed where.

“Come on, Watson,” he tilted his head towards the water. “A swim will clear the mind …”

“Uh, no.” She shook her head, “You go on if you want, I’ll wait here.” She was not dressed appropriately.

He took a step towards her.

“Sherlock ….” She warned. “No.”

He nodded again towards the water, and scrunched his nose at her. He took another step towards her.

Joan couldn’t help but be amused at the look on his face and made the mistake of smiling. That was it. That was the permission he needed. Sherlock lunged at her and picked her up. She kicked her legs but the giggles that cascaded out of her at the same time encouraged him to proceed; he started his march towards the water.

Her arms went around his neck as the water splashed at his knees. "We don’t have towels….“

Sherlock stopped and looked at her. "Would you really rather not?”

Joan knew that with one word from her, he’d turn around and set her safely back on dry land. She closed her eyes and uttered her oft repeated phrase, “I go where you go, remember?” She opened an eye in time to catch his smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during episode 5.02 after El Halcon released Sherlock.

“There you are,” Joan walked into the kitchen. “Where have you been? I was beginning to get worried. You never answered my text.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t respond. He was at the kitchen counter, back to her and he seemed to be struggling with something.

Joan walked towards him. “Are you alright?”

“Mmmhmm,” was Sherlock’s only response. He had the kitchen shears in one hand and was attempting to cut through the silver duct tape that twisted around the wrist of the other.

Without a word Joan took the scissors from his hand and had him flatten the back of his forearm against the counter. “This isn’t the remains of some sort of sexual encounter is it?”

“No.” Sherlock watched her carefully cut and peel at the tape.

His lack of explanation or dry retort was odd she thought. She stopped and looked him in the eye. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Sherlock had hoped to avoid mention of the kidnapping. He feared that, even though she seemed to no longer be suffering any lingering symptoms, his abduction might prove a trigger for unresolved issues. "Well, I was taken for a bit of a ride after the meeting tonight. We have been retained by El Halcon, drug kingpin extraordinaire.“

Joan studied him. "Kidnapped and thrown in a trunk of an old car more like it. How many men? More than two since you show no signs of having resisted.”

“Three.” He couldn’t help be proud of her.

Joan returned to the work of removing the tape. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. Our client was most gracious.” Sherlock winced as Joan pulled at the tape.

“Sorry.” She rubbed at the small spot where she’d yanked off some of the tape. “This part is going to hurt a little. You’re kind of hairy…”

“You noticed.” He gave her a cocky half smile.

She grinned at him as she quickly pulled off a good chunk of the duct tape.

“OWWWW!”

She took his other wrist and started snipping at the tape.“Now tell me what actually happened.” Joan looked up at him, her eyes softened. “Tell me the truth. Don’t worry. I can handle it.”


	12. Lunch with Emily

The waiter brought the check and Emily reached for it. “My treat, you paid last time.” She rooted through her purse for her wallet. “By the way, do you remember, Susie?”

Joan sipped the last of her tea. “Sure. How is she?”

“Well, her grandmother is moving into a retirement home and they’re looking for someone to take her apartment. It’s a wonderful place, roomy, great view. Not far from here actually. Thought maybe you’d like to look at it.” Emily tucked the cash in with the bill and waited for Joan’s response.

“No, thanks. I’m happy where I am.” Joan forced a smile and waited. Emily was about to launch into one of her “let’s help Joan realize she’s miserable” monologues. She was surprised it’d taken her this long.

“Come on, Joan. How can you be possibly be happy there. That old brownstone is horrid, peeling wallpaper, mismatched furniture, a mess of crates and files and ugh … I know you feel some sort of obligation to Sherlock, I know the guy adores you, worships the ground you walk on, but you need to find someone you can love back, have a life with. You need …”

“Enough, Emily! Just enough.” Joan’s voice had been louder than she meant it to be and she stopped to calm herself. She rearranged the napkin on her lap.

“I’m sorry. I know its none of my business but…”

“You’re right. It is none of your business. Sherlock and I are very happy with our current situation. I live with him because I want to, because he is funny and smart and challenges me to be my best. And I worship the ground he walks on and I adore him … I love Sherlock, okay, as much and maybe more than he loves me. And while it may not be the kind of love that leads us to produce a squad of kids, it doesn’t mean our bond is any less strong and fulfilling. It’s right for us. So please, no more. I know your heart is in the right place but I know who I am and what I want for my life and it is very much not what you think I should have.”

Emily said nothing. She shook her head, not really convinced. “Alright. I’ll drop it but if you ever …”

“No, Emily.” Exasperated, Joan picked up her purse. “Thank you for lunch. Sherlock texted me a few minutes ago. We’ve got a case. I’m meeting him outside.”

“I’ll wait with you if you don’t mind.” Emily followed Joan outside.

Joan scanned the street and caught sight of her partner walking hastily in their direction. “There he is.” Relieved, she waved at him. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll call you soon.” She turned and walked towards Sherlock.

Emily watched them. They didn’t acknowledge each other in any sort of physical manner, no hug or touch, no hand holding or kiss. Side by side, they fell into step, talking intently and as they walked away she saw them move closer to each other, still not touching but with steps in sync; they became one grey blur as they disappeared down the street.


	13. Darkness

Joan walked in, the clunk of her heeled boots on the hardwood floor echoed in the barren quiet of the room. The library, empty, cold, bathed only in the weak light that filtered in from the lock room, was just where she needed to be at the moment. She sat on the couch and stared ahead into the gaping darkness of the unlit fireplace.

Days like this … days like this left her empty, left her uncertain about life … all life, her life, the sad wrongness of it all.

They got there too late, came to the conclusion too late, and people died because of it….innocent people … a tiny boy, his grandmother …

Joan was numb. Tears would never purge this guilt.

She tugged at the black tie at her neck and the bow came undone, ends hanging limp. Her gaze turned towards Angus on the mantle and she stared at his dimly lit silhouette.

Footsteps, slow and careful, announced his arrival. Sherlock carried the weight of the evening with him. The burden of his mistake clung to his back, forcing him to acknowledge his powerlessness and grieve for the innocents whose deaths were the direct result of his shortcomings.

He carefully sat down close to her, never looking in her direction. They said nothing. Words would not help.

Reaching up, he undid his top collar button, and then the one beneath that; they offered no protection now.

He dropped his hand onto the sofa cushion besides hers. Her fingers crawled towards his, lightly brushed the back of his hand and then sunk into the gaps between his fingers.

Sherlock’s hand turned and swallowed her fingers tight in his clasp. She held on.

They’d keep each other afloat; sit together in silence through the small hours of the night until day break perhaps brought some hope of absolution.


End file.
